


Life Debt

by Lynds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Harry Potter, Drarry Squad Secret Santa Gift Exchange, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Gay Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Narcissa, Panic Attacks, Sad Draco Malfoy, Self-Harm, Sex only in one chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Draco has been outed by Rita Skeeter after getting out of Azkhaban, and the Greengrasses have pulled out of the marriage pact. Narcissa decides what the Malfoys really need is some good press, and she's willing to use a Life Debt from the Chosen One to get it.





	1. Harry - The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rmh8402](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmh8402/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Ren! I was so excited when I found out I'd got you in the Secret Santa Exchange ^_^ I hope you like it...the angst sort of got away from me, I'm sorry...I hope the fluff makes up for it?!

“Thank you for taking the time to meet me, Mr Potter,” said Mrs Malfoy, her hands folded in her lap. She nodded thanks to the house elf as she poured the tea into delicate china cups. Harry felt clumsy just being in the posh tea room. He’d seen it before, set back a little way from Diagon Alley with a pretty courtyard giving the illusion of somewhere more provincial, but he’d never considered going in there.

“I still don’t know why you want to talk to me, if I’m honest, Mrs Malfoy.” He held his own cup gingerly in both hands. He just knew he was going to drop the damn thing.

“Narcissa, please,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’ll get right to the point. I assume you have been keeping abreast of wizarding news?”

Harry raised an eyebrow and refrained from mentioning that she wasn’t exactly at any point, yet, and indeed, he still felt like he was being led in little Malfoy circles. “Yes?”

“Then you will understand that the Malfoy name has become rather…unpopular of late.”

He congratulated himself for not bursting out laughing in her face. “I have noticed.” He wondered what she was going to ask him to do. Give an interview extolling the virtues of Malfoys in general? Remind everyone that both she and Draco had saved his life, like he had at the trials? Not that it had done much good. Draco still had to go to Azkhaban for six months.

She nodded. “It is for this reason that I’ve come to ask you to take Draco to the Yule Ball.”

He was wrong. He wasn’t going to drop the cup. He snapped it in his fist during a coughing fit, after spitting tea through his nose.

After the house elves had cleared up, vanished the shattered shards of porcelain, mended the skin on his hand and replaced everything, all with the minimum of long-suffering looks, Harry turned to Narcissa again. “I’m sorry. For a moment there it sounded like you wanted me to date your son.”

She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly at him. “I don’t see why that’s so surprising, Mr Potter. The Malfoy name needs dragging out of the gutter, you are the most well loved character in the wizarding world, for Draco to accompany you to the Yule Ball seems to me a surefire way to raise our standing in the community. Particularly in light of…recent exposés in the press.”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. The pictures of Malfoy snogging some random bloke in a popular wizarding nightclub had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet for weeks. Harry hadn’t known what to think. On the one hand it had meant Rita bloody Skeeter had stopped yapping about him being a disappointment and failing auror preliminary training for, oh, at least a day. On the other hand, seeing Malfoy like that…well, he hadn’t been able to look away from the photograph. He cleared his throat and pushed the insidious thought to the back of his mind. “How do you even know I’m queer?”

“I didn’t, until now,” she smiled, and ooh, there was that Malfoy smugness. Harry narrowed his eyes at her until she relented. “Very well. I had reason to believe you would be bisexual. The son of one of my very great friends is seeing your ex girlfriend. Ginevra and I have become rather well acquainted over the last six months.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Bloody Ginny. Zabini had turned her into a proper honorary Slytherin, especially if she was making friends with Narcissa Malfoy and apparently telling all his secrets. Just because he’d got drunk one Sunday at the Burrow and _might_ have blurted out that he wasn’t sure which one of the pair was more fuckable. Ginny, thankfully, had found it hilarious. Molly Weasley, not so much. She’d been having trouble enough coping with the fact that her only daughter was dating a Slytherin, Harry commenting on his shaggability was enough for her to threaten to wash his mouth out with soap. 

George had been delighted with the new teasing material, though, and to see him act a little like himself again made Molly almost grateful for Harry’s idiocy. In the end.

“Malfoy’ll never agree to it,” he said, shaking his head.

“Draco will understand the political expediency of a match like this. He was prepared to marry Astoria Greengrass until the family pulled out following the media storm. It seems Draco’s six months in Azkhaban is something they’re prepared to work with, but him being gay is not.” She muttered the last sentence into her teacup, and Harry cocked his head on one side. There’s the Narcissa he knew, he thought, the one who lied to the greatest known Legilimens of the century for the sake of her child.

“So you want me to take Malfoy to the ball to…what, shove their face in it?”

“Don’t be uncouth, dear,” she said, pursing her lips. “Of course not. I wish to improve his prospects so he may attract a better match.”

“You’re still going to marry him off to a good pureblood witch after this?”

She didn’t roll her eyes, she was way too posh for that, but oh, Harry could tell she wanted to. “No, Mr Potter, I wish to marry him off to a good pureblood wizard.”

He felt no compunction to hold his eyeballs still. “Oh, so anatomy doesn’t matter, as long as they’re not a muggleborn, is that it?” He snorted. “I should have realised you lot would never change.” Suddenly thoroughly sick of the conversation, he stood up. “I need to get back to work.”

“Mr Potter, I hereby invoke my Life Debt.”

He spun round in place and stared at her. She continued looking straight ahead and blew the steam off her tea before taking a delicate sip. “You’re going to waste a Life Debt on one date?”

“No, I plan to spend my Life Debt on a three month relationship with a high ranking wizard, one which will improve my son’s quality of life for a much longer timescale. I consider it a small price to pay.”

“Three months!”

“Oh, do sit down, you are attracting quite the audience. Yes, three months. That seems like a satisfactory length of time to prove to any potential suitors that my son is capable of conducting a medium term relationship.”

Harry sat and glared at her. “One month,” he said.

She shook her head. “I don’t think you entirely grasp the concept of a Life Debt, Mr Potter. I set the terms, it is not a bargain.”

Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned.


	2. Draco - Reintroductions

“What were you _thinking_ , Mother? I don’t understand how you could possibly think any of this was a good idea!”

“Draco,” she sighed, but he continued pacing, working himself up into a frenzy.

“I mean, _Potter_ , of all people! He’s insufferable, he—

“Draco.”

“—walks around like he owns the place, with all these cronies falling over themselves to please him, and—“

“Heaven’s sake, Draco.”

“—then of course there’s the matter of his hair. Have you _seen_ it? It’s a birds’ nest! Mother, it’s ridiculous, we hated each other.”

“Draco!” Mother stood up just as he turned around to pace, and he flinched back instead of crashing into her. “Complain all you like, son, but do not ever accuse me of stupidity.”

“Stup— what are you talking about?”

She sighed and sat down, and the fire cast shadows that deepened the lines at the corner of her eyes. “Hate is for people who tear your family apart at the seams, scattering the fragments to the wind. Hate…hate is for the Dark Lord, Draco. You and Harry Potter…you saved each other’s lives.”  
Draco deflated and sat at her knee, resting his elbow on the arm of her chair and staring at the pattern of the carpet as it danced in the flamelight.

“I also don’t believe you ever truly hated him, darling. Not even when you came back from school ranting about how awful he was.”

Draco clenched his hand in his lap. He _had_ hated him, and wanted him as well. But that was before he understood what real fear was. Hating him, having a rival, pushing him as far as he could go - it had been fun. It had been the closest he could get to a friendship with the boy he’d idolised his entire childhood. He had been an idiot. And now he was going to get another second best - a fake relationship with the saviour of the wizarding world.

***

Mother insisted they meet the day before the ball to co-ordinate outfits and plan their arrival. Potter arrived through the Floo looking as though he’d come down the chimney dragged by his ears. “How is it possible that you can defeat the greatest dark wizard of our generation, and yet still manage to fail at the equivalent of walking through a door?”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Malfoy. You’re going to be delightful to deal with as usual, aren’t you?”

His mother walked into the parlour at that moment, vanishing the soot with a swish of her wand, so Draco satisfied himself with rolling his eyes. 

“Thank you for meeting us today, Mr Potter,” she said with a smile. “I noticed your RSVP to the ball naming Draco as your plus one made its way into the gossip column of the Prophet.”

“Umm, I think you’d better call me Harry,” he said, sidestepping the point neatly. “Both of you, probably.”

Mother smiled and inclined her head. “Of course. Would you like some tea?”

“Please.”

They sat stiffly around the fireplace as Itsy served afternoon tea, complete with sandwiches and small cakes, and made dull small talk that felt like it was drilling into Draco’s brain and sucking the soul out of him, finishing off where Azkhaban had failed. He caught himself scratching at his wrist and clenched his hand in his lap.

Mother glanced at him. “I will leave you two to get reacquainted.” She stood, straightening her pencil skirt with efficient movements, and nodded to both of them. 

The room was cast into silence.

“Malfoy, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

He snapped his head up, frowning at Potter. “What for?”

“Stupid childhood rivalries, fighting like an idiot…the, uh…the curse…” He pulled his earlobe and winced. “I didn’t know what that spell would do. It was stupid of me to use it.”

“You mean the Sectumsempra?”

He winced again. “Yeah, that.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter, if you think that was the worst thing that happened to me that year—“

“I know. I just wanted to say I was sorry.” He shrugged. “Thought maybe we could put Hogwarts behind us.”

“I already have.”

Potter nodded awkwardly. “Well. That’s…good. It was stupid, really. Not like you were the biggest problem in my life, I think that prize goes to Voldemort. You were just…there, and you were someone I could actually fight without thinking I was going to die all the time. I think I fixated on you so I didn’t have to panic about being the bloody chosen one.”

Draco tried to ignore the pink flush sneaking up his neck to betray him at the thought of Potter _fixating_ on him. He didn’t mean it like that. 

And that was the biggest problem with this whole oh-so clever idea of his mother’s. Because he was going to have to spend weeks with Potter, pretending to be dating him in public and in private…well, pretending that it wasn’t everything he’d wanted since he was about fourteen and confused. He stood wearily. “Potter, you have nothing to be sorry for. We were both utter arseholes, but like you said, we were children. Forget it. I’ll see you at the Yule ball.”


	3. Harry - The Yule Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule ball comes with too much tension, but at last, maybe a little understanding

Hermione tugged at the bow tie on Harry’s dress robes. “Hold _still_ , will you?”

“Sorry,” he sighed. 

Ron smirked at him from his chair by the fire. “I’m so glad I’m not you, mate.”

“Really? I’d never have guessed.”

“Ignore him, Harry,” Hermione said. “We’re going to the Lupin Memorial ball in January, and he _will_ be wearing his dress robes.”

“Yeah,” Ron said easily, “but they’re new ones, made specifically for me, and I look bloody gorgeous in them.”

“Anything would look gorgeous compared to those ones you wore in fourth year.”

He shuddered. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, you’re coming to that one too.”

“I’ll probably have to bring Malfoy,” he groaned. “Three months of him sniping at me about my hair and not being a pureblood and how useless I am at everything? God, I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Hasn’t he changed at all?” asked Hermione, frowning over Harry’s hair.

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “He’s…quieter. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s still a sarcastic little shit, but when he wasn’t trying to get a rise out of me he was just sitting there, staring into space. It was a bit…”

Hermione’s face softened. “Well, he was in Azkhaban for six months.”

Ron shuddered. “We went during training a few months ago,” he said. “That was enough for me.”

Harry nodded, remembering how pale Ron, Seamus and Padma had been when they came back from their fun little field trip. The dementors had left their mark on the place. 

“I know he was a twat,” said Harry. “But he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be doing what they made him do.”

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” Hermione quoted. “And Malfoy was never exactly a good man. He did what he did, and he was punished for it.”

“Not like any of us ever had a choice,” he muttered.

“Yes, we did, Harry. We all chose our sides.”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t so sure. If the sorting hat had insisted on putting him in Slytherin, would things seem so black and white now? And of the three of them, the only one who’d truly chosen a side was Hermione - Ron’s parents had decided for him, and Harry had his fate branded into his skin while he was still a baby.

“Harry,” Hermione said, checking her watch. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get going now.”

His eyes widened, and he quickly dropped a kiss on her cheek and waved to Ron, throwing Floo powder into the fire. “Malfoy Manor,” he called, and spun.

“I really don’t understand you, Potter,” drawled Malfoy, and Harry just managed to control his automatic eye roll. “Do you enjoy looking an utter mess?”

“Not particularly, Malfoy. I just don’t care what I look like.” He did, though. Especially anywhere near Malfoy. He tried to convince himself it was because he disliked the guy, but he couldn’t even pretend that any more. He hadn’t hated Malfoy since sixth year, seeing how terrified he could be. And he had to admit, he’d always thought he was beautiful. It would have been nice to look good near him for once.

“Why don’t you just cut you hair, at least?”

“I tried,” he sighed, twisting his lips. “It grew back.”

“Well, yes.” Malfoy spoke very slowly, like Harry was an idiot. “Hair does that.”

“I mean it grew back overnight.” He shrugged. “It does that. Always has done. Used to drive my aunt spare, which was fun.”

“Your hair had tantrums?” Malfoy snorted. “And you call me spoilt.”

Harry laughed once, short and sharp, trying to imagine what would have happened to him if he’d actually had a _tantrum_ as a child. “You are spoilt.”

Malfoy just rolled his eyes again and Apparated them to the Yule Ball.

He felt Malfoy go from just tense to absolutely vibrating the moment the enchanted doorway in the Higglesworth Hotel announced them, its bland voice echoing around the ballroom. All the conversation stopped. Every face turned to watch them make their way down the vast regency staircase, and Harry resisted the urge to run his fingers through his wild curls once more. Malfoy, of course, looked the very image of elegance, like he always had. But he could feel his hand trembling under his own now, and he frowned. He remembered watching him across the hall in Hogwarts at the Triwizard ball, clenching his fists in frustration to see Draco navigate the world with such poise. Was it possible he’d been scared back then, too, and just really good at hiding it?

“Mr Potter,” said a middle aged witch, smiling in a sickly sort of way and clasping his hand so he had to let go of Malfoy’s. “So pleased you could make it, we are honoured.”

“Uh, thank you.” He could feel his ears heat up and wanted to scrub his hands into his hair, just for something to do with them. He forced his left hand down by his side, but the woman was still clutching at his right.

“You simply must come and meet my son, Robert,” she said, pulling on him. “He’s been away in New Zealand for a few years, and is just dying to meet the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He recently ‘came out’ too, you know, and we’re so proud of him, so proud.” She started dragging him along, and Harry had a flash of panic. He knew the announcement that he was taking Draco Malfoy as his plus one had been in the public domain, he just hadn’t registered quite how quickly the information had spread. He’d just doubled the number of pushy parents wanting him to meet their children.

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am,” he said, hoping that the thready note in his voice wasn’t as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. “But my...my _boyfriend_ and I were just going to…uh…to get a drink. Yes. Um. Have you met Draco Malfoy?”

The woman’s friendly smile disappeared in a flash and she shook Malfoy’s hand briefly, touching it as little as possible. Malfoy looked strained and irritation flared in Harry. As soon as she released Malfoy’s hand, Harry grabbed it, lacing their fingers together. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs…um…”

“Lady Mistlethwaite.”

“Lady Mistlethwaite. We’ll be getting that drink. I…um, maybe we’ll catch up with Robert later.”

He pulled Malfoy away with his left hand and let out a tense breath as they aimed for the drinks, his right hand now free to shake without letting go of his fake boyfriend. It was surprisingly comforting to have someone else’s hand in his while he was approached by ministers, philanthropists and general sycophants, but it was winding him up how few people acknowledged Malfoy. God, if he’d been able to get over their animosity at school, and his role on the other side of the war, why couldn’t they?

They walked past gawping eyes, eager whispers behind hands held up to lips. Harry picked up the usual gleam of greed when they tried to catch the eye of the Chosen One, but this time there was an equal number of sneers. It felt like fifth year, the entire school, the entire wizarding community thinking he was mad. Wishing he would take his famous face and words of doom and sod off back into silence, out of sight, out of mind. It felt like the first ten years of his life. 

He’d once wondered whether the Dursleys had expected him to submit to their hatred and make himself invisible. But he didn’t think he was capable of it. It was just in his nature to stand up and fight back, and while he’d also known how to survive, make himself small enough to minimise the blows, it had only ever been a tactical retreat. Live to fight another day.

Well, he wasn’t retreating today. He was powerful this time, and he was getting angry. Definitely angry enough to shove some of this judgemental suspicion back into sneering faces, whether it was aimed at him or the person next to him.

“Draco,” he said, leaning in (and up, slightly - Draco was _tall_ ). The man twitched under his hand. “You can dance, right?”

“Of course, Potter—“

“Harry.”

He took a deep breath. “Harry. I— yes, I can dance.”

“If you lead, will I look slightly less utterly useless?”

“You…you want me to lead?”

“Well, yeah. It’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it? And if we look good then we’ll really rub all their noses in it.”

“You…what are you…”

“I’ve been getting looks like this since I was two years old. Never liked it then, not keen on it now just because they’re directed at you instead.” He linked his fingers with Malfoy’s and gave him a tug, raising his voice a little. “Come on, babe, dance with me?”

Malfoy actually blushed and Harry’s smirk turned into a genuine smile. The pink spots on his cheeks made him seem so much more human.

Harry’d seen Malfoy looking human before, of course. But never in a good way. He’d seen him crying, broken and terrified. He’d never seen him laugh for joy, or surprised, or happy. Or blushing. It made something strange uncurl in his chest, a little protective, but something else as well, something new.

Draco held his hand out, moved Harry’s other hand to his shoulder, and rested his own on Harry’s waist, and moved.

There was something strange about being led on the dance floor. As usual he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, but this time it didn’t matter because there was someone there who _did_. And Malfoy was _good_. He telegraphed his movements without making it obvious, showing Harry where to go and actually trusting him to follow, to understand and get out of the way so Draco didn’t step on his feet. Having been at each others’ throats for years, it was surreal that they should both be able to trust each other like this. To understand each other instinctively.

And yet, maybe it wasn’t such a shock, thought Harry, staring at his own scarred hand contrasted beautifully with Malfoy’s white skin. They’d been watching each other like hawks since they were eleven, equally matched at quidditch and duelling, perhaps it wasn’t a surprise their bodies seemed to know each other.

Harry felt his face heat up at the implications of that thought. He cleared his throat. “We need to talk boundaries.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what’s off limits? Were you OK with me holding your hand? Shall we…shall we kiss in public? What?”

Malfoy’s shoulders seemed to slump, his head drooping. “I’ll follow your lead, Po-Harry. Just…whatever you’re willing to do - if it’s too much I’ll say but…well. My mother got you into this mess.”

Harry chuckled. “Hey, she got us both into it,” he joked, but Malfoy still looked deflated. Harry frowned, trying to work out what he’d done wrong, or what he could do to fix it, but the song came to an end and Malfoy stepped back.

Almost immediately a tall wizard with brassy blonde hair stepped between them. Malfoy must have been left staring right at his back as the guy held out his hand to Harry with a smirk. “May I have the next dance?”

Harry almost snorted. Had the whole country looked at the gossip columns and assumed his taste in men ran to arrogant blonde prats? “Thanks,” he said, ducking under his arm and grabbing Malfoy’s hand again. “But this one’s got all the slots filled, haven’t you babe?”

He only realised what a terrible innuendo he’d made when Malfoy flushed bright red and slapped his hand over his mouth. “Potter!”

Harry burst into hysterical giggles. By the time he could focus again the other bloke was gone and Malfoy was twisting his lips to hold back his own laughter. “Are you quite finished making a spectacle of yourself?”

“You have met me, right? I’d love to stop making a spectacle of myself, but it just seems to happen.”

Malfoy scoffed. “You love the attention, Potter, you always have.”

Harry sighed and tried to stop the irritation rising in him. “I really don’t,” he said, straightening up. “I know you think I do but…I hate it. I only ever wanted to be left alone.”

“Poor Potter,” he sneered, and the return of that old expression made Harry so _tired_. “The life of a celebrity. Must have been so hard, waited on hand and foot as a child.”

He laughed, and he knew it was an ugly sound. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he said, the old anger bubbling up to the surface in a cold haze. “I don’t know who you think could ever possibly have had it better, with your legion of house leves, burning their ears off if they ever did anything slightly wrong. How did it feel to be able to punish someone for getting your tea wrong? Did you like catching them out? Did you tell them to close their ears in the oven, Malfoy? Huh?”

Malfoy looked sick and he pushed Harry away, staring at the floor, wide eyed and grey faced. “Fuck off, Potter.”

“What, you don’t like being faced with the things you’ve done? Well, my family treated me like that. Why do you think I hated you so much? I knew you were just like them. I could see you were just like my cousin, a selfish, spoiled bully who’d take pleasure from someone else’s pain and—“

“Stop,” he whispered. “Stop, please.”

Harry’s jaw clicked shut and he saw Malfoy, really saw him. He had his eyes shut, hands curled into fists, and his entire body was shaking. As the anger drained away, Harry saw the crowd around them watching their whispered argument with knowing eyes and smug smiles.

Shame flooded through him. He knew Malfoy wasn’t that boy any more. Hell, he knew Dudley wasn’t like that any more either. Harry had been the one who said they should put their old animosity behind them, and here he was dragging up the past like this. Was this any way to act? For that matter, was this any way to repay a life debt?

Harry tentatively reached for Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy gasped as he touched him, and seemed to tremble even harder. Harry was sure he saw tears glistening in the corners of his closed eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Malfoy shook his head. “It’s…It’s all true. I am…I am all that.”

He’d wanted to see Malfoy looking human again, but not like this. He’d never wanted this. Slowly, so Malfoy could pull away if he wanted to, he wrapped his arms around the taller man, pulling his head down so it rested on his shoulder. Malfoy breathed out a shuddering sigh and lifted his own arms to wrap around Harry, relaxing into it slightly. Until the flash of a camera had him tensing up again, jerking back and blinking rapidly, smoothing down his robes.

Harry glared at the photographer’s retreating back, and leaned close to Malfoy again. “Do you think your mother would be mortally offended if we leave early? I can think of a million places I’d rather be than here.”


	4. Draco - Regent's Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco understands a bit more about Harry's past, and Harry understands a bit more about Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to self-harm in this chapter

Draco straightened up, his face carefully blank to cover up his disappointment, and nodded. It had been a shit evening, all things considered, and even cradling Harry’s body in his arms as they danced wasn’t enough to make up for all the looks, the humiliation of almost crying in public…and those things Harry had said! He needed a good night of Dreamless Sleep before he processed everything. Maybe even…his hand went up to his forearm, rubbing.

“Great,” said Harry, a relieved grin spreading across his face, and Draco had to ask Mother to call off this life debt. He couldn’t bear seeing Harry looking so relieved at the thought of being away from him any more. “I was thinking Regent’s Park,” he continued. “Ever been there at night?”

Draco shook his head with a slight frown.

“Slide-along, then? I know it’ll be shut but it’s so big we won’t be seen, and it’s really beautiful in the snow.”

“You want…you want me to come with you?”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, sorry, if you’d rather go home—“

Draco grabbed his arm. “Shut up, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Hey, you want to make them all think I’m taking you home to bed?”

“What?”

Harry pressed closer, his mouth nuzzling down Draco’s neck, his broad hands gripping his waist. As he opened his wet lips and sucked gently on his pulse point, Draco’s head fell back, mouth open in an involuntary groan. His hands fisted into the robes over Harry’s shoulder blades and the world spun.

He jumped as cold air hit his face. “Bloody buggering fuck,” he gasped. Harry chuckled and stepped back, casting a wandless warming charm. His lips were damp and pink, and Draco reached up to touch the bruise on his neck, his face glowing with heat.

Harry cleared his throat. “Sorry, was that—“

He rolled his eyes and pretended he wasn’t half hard. “Fine, Potter. I told you.” He looked away, out over the moonlit park, wondering whether the knowledge of how those lips and hands felt was worth the heartbreak of never having them for real. “I’ve never been here before,” he murmured.

“Really?” said Harry. “I don’t know, I always assumed that everyone who _could_ would spend all their time in London.”

“Why?” Draco laughed.

“I, uh…” he pulled his earlobe, and Draco was sure his skin darkened in a blush. “My cousin used to come here all the time, whenever he wanted to.”

Draco frowned, some of Harry’s earlier words actually sinking in. “Was…was your family really…”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry about that, Draco,” he said, putting both hands over his face. Draco was relieved Harry couldn’t see the effect it had on him, hearing Harry say his given name like that. Like he cared. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Draco took a deep breath and scraped his shoe through the snow. “It’s true, though,” he said, his voice pitched just that little too high to be casual. “I was awful to them. I just…even Dobby, who was…he was my best friend.”

It all caught up to him, and he couldn’t hold not it. The article about Dobby’s grave had been in the Quibbler when he’d been in Azkhaban, the only publication allowed in the prison. Probably because the guards knew how much its whimsy annoyed the prisoners. Draco hadn’t even known Dobby was dead until he read it, and he’d pressed the grief down, down into his soul, trying to keep the shell intact. He clenched his hands, but couldn’t stop them from shaking, swallowed and gasped but couldn’t hold in the tears flooding down his cheeks.

“Oh, Draco, I’m so sorry,” Harry gasped, his eyes wide. “Please don’t cry.”

Draco pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to hold the tears back, gulping and starting to panic even while Harry rubbed his arms, almost frantic himself. “I didn’t know,” Harry said. “I just…I knew Dobby belonged to your family, but I didn’t think you’d ca…umm. I’m sorry.”

“I was horrible to him. I was…I…I used to tell him everything and…and…and he was so k-kind to me and then, if I was in a b-bad mood, I…I was mean to him.” Draco’s voice raised to a wail and he was gulping air, trying and _failing_ , always failing to get control of himself.

“He dropped a cake on my uncle’s boss’ wife,” blurted Harry.

Draco choked a laugh. “What?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, a breath of relief in his voice. “When he turned up in my bedroom my uncle was having a dinner party so I was supposed to be keeping quiet, and Dobby…he, uh, he wasn’t very quiet.”

Draco laughed wetly and scrubbed his face. “He never was, was he?”

Harry grinned at him, disproportionately relieved that Draco wasn’t crying any more. “You OK now?”

He nodded and straightened up. “Calm down, Potter, I’m not going to get snot on you.”

“It’s not that,” he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “I just…are you OK?”

He nodded and stared out over the snow-dusted field. “They really treated you like that?”

Harry shrugged and rubbed his elbow. “It wasn’t so bad. They didn’t make me slam my head in an oven or iron my ears or anything.” He said it like a joke, but Draco felt the bile rise in his throat thinking about the things his father had made Dobby and the others do sometimes. And it wasn’t just him. 

“I…I told him to shut his fingers in the drawer o-once,” he said softly, guiltily, and part of him wanted Harry to turn and punch him for it, punish him for doing wrong. “It was the Easter holidays in second year and I…I was ranting about…” he cleared his throat and pushed on. “About you. Dobby reminded me how much I’d l-loved Harry Potter stories.” He glanced up at Harry, but couldn’t keep his gaze. “I used to read all of them as a child. And then…well. I was angry. I wanted to be like my father.” He shook his head. “That’s no excuse.” His lip curled in disgust. “I can’t blame everything on someone else. It was my own doing. That was…that was the last time I saw him. I went back to school, and you…you set him free.”

“Sorry…”

“Oh, Merlin, no, don’t ever say sorry for that. Don’t. Seriously. I might be sick.” Harry smiled at him, and Draco felt guilty for even having that kindness. “I was a little shit,” he said. “I really had no idea, did I? Guess I got what I deserve.”

“Bullshit,” Harry said, his voice hard. “You didn’t…nobody deserves that. What you went through, what any of us did.” He crossed his arms and stood shoulder to shoulder with Draco, glaring at the frozen lake so hard it was a wonder it didn’t burst into flames. “I hate that, you know? When people say karma will get you what you deserve. I was locked in a cupboard and punched in the face by my cousin and his mates, I had to cook breakfast by the time I was six and not eat any of it - what had I done back then to deserve that?” He shrugged. “Guess for them it was enough that I’m brown and magic.”

“Fuck,” said Draco after a moment of just staring at him. “Just… _fuck_ , Harry.”

He looked embarrassed. “I…uh, I’ve never told anyone all of that, actually. Ron and George know some of it because they saw…and I guess that means the other Weasleys and Hermione…but I never said it out loud.” He laughed and shook his head. “You’ve always brought out a side of me that I…I guess that I’d rather stayed hidden, I dunno.” He narrowed his eyes at him suddenly. “If you—“

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Harry.”

“Not even your mum?”

“Uh…OK.”

Harry sighed, breath puffing white as it passed out of the bubble of the warming charm. “Thanks, Malfoy. Draco.”

“Don’t thank me,” he snorted, self-loathing rising up in his chest like bile. “I’m…I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Not your fault,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“Not for them.” His lip twisted at the thought…he’d been daydreaming as a child of the luxury Harry Potter would be enjoying, how well they’d get on when they finally met. And that whole time Harry Potter had been abused and neglected. “No wonder you hated me,” he said softly.

“You’re not so bad now,” grinned Harry, and nudged him with an elbow.

The touch went through Draco like a shockwave and he stared at Harry’s profile as he cast a Tempus, warmth settling beneath his ribcage and flaring with his heartbeat. He barely heard Harry saying they should get home, the sound hidden under the roar of pleasure in his ears as Harry smiled at him.

“I had a pretty good time tonight,” said Harry as they Apparated outside the Manor. “In the end. I mean, I’m sorry for upsetting you. Twice.” He rubbed the back of his head. “But apart from that. This pretend boyfriends thing isn’t going to be too bad, is it?”

Draco forced a smile and watched him leave, choosing to walk in, even though the wards would have allowed him to Apparate straight to his room. He wanted to sort this mess of emotions out first.

It didn’t work. By the time he’d got up to his room there was a tornado of anger and elation and fear and could-have-beens and he could barely think over it. Could barely function.

He stripped out of his robes, slamming his mirror aside so he didn’t have to see any more of himself than necessary. By the time his fingers tore the bandage on his arm they were shaking, pulling open some of the old cuts that marred the hateful skull and snakes. He pressed his thumb down on them hard, and blood swelled up sluggishly, but it wasn’t enough. Never enough.


	5. Harry - The Prophet

Harry opened the door to Hermione looking guilty on his doorstep. “Harry…”

“Hey,” he yawned. “What’cha hiding behind your back?”

She sighed and handed him the Daily Prophet that she’d intercepted. “Just…don’t get too mad.”

“I’m going to need coffee for this, aren’t I?”

She winced. He nodded and led her into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and grabbing the milk. “How bad is it?”

“Well…it’s not…terrible.”

He downed his first cup of coffee, handed Hermione her own, and made himself another. “All right, I’m ready. Give it here.”

The picture of him hugging Malfoy was on the front cover, which was actually a relief. He’d been worried that someone had snapped a picture of them fighting which would have probably been a huge insult to Narcissa. But ‘What Was He Thinking?’ screamed the headline, and Harry groaned. He flicked through the pages to the huge spread by Rita Skeeter (of course), and sat down to read.

‘Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was last night seen canoodling with convicted Death Eater Draco Malfoy. The two arrived at the Yule Ball in Higglesworth Hall, Lancashire, and proceeded to parade around the room arm in arm. We here at the Daily Prophet have long been wondering if all is well in the world of the Chosen One, but it’s beginning to look like Harry might be suffering from a nervous breakdown.  
“He didn’t seem quite right,” confided Robert Misslethwaite. “I asked him to dance, and he started laughing hysterically before being pulled away by that Malfoy fellow. It just wasn’t what I was expecting.”  
The young head of Malfoy Manor has been in the news recently thanks to his deplorable behaviour out and about. One can’t help but wonder why someone hasn’t advised him that such debauchery doesn’t endear him to those of us who remember that he spent six months in Azkhaban, leaving his father, Lucius Malfoy, to die in prison when he was released. His sexuality came as a surprise to many in pureblood circles, and the fact that he was so willing to flaunt it, even more so. He has already alienated the Greengrass family, who called off their daughters engagement to him earlier this season, and word on the grapevine suggests he might not have much luck forming any new proposals. Which is why he seems to have turned his eye on everyone’s favourite green-eyed boy.  
What with failing to complete his schooling, dropping out of Auror training after only one term, and taking a low level job in a shop on Diagon Alley, it’s clear to see that Harry Potter is not coping well with the aftermath of the war. Is Mr Malfoy taking advantage of this and manipulating the Chosen One into a relationship that could only harm him?  
“I think Harry’s earned the right to date who he likes,” said a source close to Mr Potter. “Draco’s served his time too. Just leave them alone.”  
Well. With friends like that, Readers, who needs enemies?’

Harry threw the newspaper across the table so it scattered into its separate sheets and fluttered across the floor. Hermione just raised an eyebrow. “I did try.”

He rubbed both hands over his face. “They make me sound like I’m mentally incapacitated.”

“It’s Rita Skeeter. What do you expect?”

He sighed. She was right, and it usually didn’t bother him quite so much. He’d got used to rolling his eyes and ignoring her but this…he’d basically dragged Draco into this circus, when he was meant to be pulling him out of it.

She must have misunderstood his silence, because she put her cup on one side and leaned over to him, putting her hand on his arm. “Harry, just say the word. I _know_ I can find a way of getting you out of this, Mrs Malfoy may think you owe her, but she owes you just as much if not more. The whole world does. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I mean…it’s _Malfoy_.”

“Oh! No, that’s not…” He rubbed the back of his head. “It’s really fine. I mean I wasn’t sure about it at the start but I do want to help. Malfoy’s OK now, I think. And he did serve his time. He doesn’t deserve all this shit, he’s not manipulating me at all.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You hated him in school.”

“Yeah, and a war happened between then and now.” He struggled with his words a little, trying to explain. “Look, I…saw what it was like for him, some of the time. When I saw what Voldemort was doing. He was terrified, just…broken, and I don’t think he’s been able to put himself back together since then. Nobody deserves that. I think I stopped hating him when he lowered his wand on the Astronomy tower.”

Her eyes softened and she was quiet for a moment, picking her coffee cup up again. “What was it like, really?” she asked eventually. “Last night.”

“Fine,” he said. “Well. Bit of a roller coaster. But he has changed since Hogwarts. Like, a lot, I think. I don’t know if it’s all good. If he hasn’t changed too much.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, blowing across the coffee in her cup.

“Well, I didn’t dare to hope he would one day regret what he was like in school, but I think he really does.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know to what extent - it’s not like he ever called me…you know, the M-word…so I can’t comment on that.”

She just raised an eyebrow.

“But he was really cut up about Dobby.” He frowned and made himself shut his mouth. He’d banned Draco from telling anyone about the Dursleys after all.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “We’ll see at the Lupin Memorial ball, won’t we? You are still coming to that, right?”

“Yes, Hermione,” he grinned, rolling his eyes. “I know how important it is to you.”

“It’s not about me,” she insisted, and he suppressed a smile. He could see her click into lecture mode. “It’s about the reintegration of other magical species into our society. If we’d had a better relationship with werewolves, giants and hags it’s very likely that Voldemort wouldn’t have found them all such willing allies.”

“I know,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I was teasing you. And yes, of course we’ll be there.” He frowned in the direction of the crumpled up paper. “Though god knows what Skeeter will write about Malfoy then.”

“Maybe she'll have got over it by then,” Hermione said. “I mean, it’s not until the end of January and you’ll have been on loads of dates with him.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so…”

“Harry,” she sighed. “Either do it properly or don’t do it at all. If you’re going to pretend to be someone’s boyfriend for their benefit you could at least pretend to be a good one.”

“Hey!”

“You know it’s true. Obviously you won’t be with him over Christmas, but what about afterwards? New Years? The first week of January? If you want to help him, if you really don’t want me to find you a way out of this agreement with Mrs Malfoy, then actually be helpful.”

“I can be a good boyfriend!”

She just raised an eyebrow.

“I can! In fact…I’m going to take him to the ice rink. That new one that just opened in Swansea.”

“Really?” she frowned. “Harry, ice skating’s a Muggle import, are you sure—“

“Even better,” he said firmly. “That’ll show people that he’s willing to try Muggle things.”

“Are you sure he _is_?” she muttered, but he was already rummaging around in a drawer to find a piece of parchment.


	6. Harry - Confused

Malfoy met him at the rink in Swansea on the twenty third, looking very uncertain. Harry barely noticed through his excitement. He’d always wanted to go skating, but he’d been relieved when the Dursleys had never taken him. Dudley would have made sure he’d broken at least two bones a year. He’d been there for half an hour already, almost twitching with glee, watching the muggleborn witches and wizards show off to their pureblood friends. He knew he’d be just as rubbish as Malfoy to start with, but he couldn’t wait to get out on the ice anyway. He was so excited when he saw him that he grabbed him in a hug and dragged him to the stall to pay for their tickets.

He was right. They were both utterly rubbish. He slipped and fell on his backside within two steps of the gate, his glasses knocked askew. Draco chuckled, but Harry laughed harder and struggled to his feet to try again. “Come on, slowcoach,” he called. “I’ve made a twat of myself, it’s your turn.”

“I did not sign up for this, Potter,” he yelled, and stepped out carefully, gripping hard to the side of the rink. 

Harry was starting to get the hang of it, watching the others as they leant forwards slightly, making a herringbone shape with his feet. He even managed to let go and skate a few paces before his feet whipped ahead of him again and he fell hard on his hip. He groaned and rolled over to push himself up, looking back at Malfoy.

Draco was glaring at the ice as he struggled around, his jaw jutting out in concentration. Part of Harry _liked_ that expression, because he wasn’t quite Malfoy any more without that ferocity flashing in his grey eyes. He slid back to him and managed a very wobbly turn, grinning at him in triumph, wondering if he could annoy him back to normal. “Let go of the wall, Malfoy.”

“I’m a Slytherin, Potter, not an idiot Gryffindor.”

“Come on, you know you want to give it a try.”

“Who came up with this ridiculous thing? Just charm your boots to have better grip and go for a walk, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Because,” said Harry, pointing at a very talented skater whipping past and jumping into a spin that drew spontaneous applause from the others, “you can eventually do that.”

Malfoy just sent Harry a withering look, but Harry noticed that he was watching the skater intently.

“Come on,” he said, nudging him, and immediately wobbling. “It’s just like dancing.”

He sighed and let go of the wall. “That’s it,” Harry cheered. Malfoy wobbled and Harry grabbed his arm. He immediately pulled it back, wincing, and grabbed the side again.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“It’s fine, just leave it.”

It was his left arm, he realised. He’d grabbed him right over the Dark Mark. He wondered if it hurt, or if he was just really aware of it. Either way, he backed off immediately, clearing his throat. “Look, give it another try. Put your feet in, like, a bent V shape and push.”

“You don’t know any more about this than I do, Harry, why are you giving me instructions.”

He tried to squash the smile at hearing Draco use his first name without prompting. “Because I’ve figured out how to do it while you were puttering around on the sidelines. I’m ahead of you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” he grinned, his eyes flashing a challenge. Draco met his gaze, and the two of them rushed forwards, pushing out quickly, skates clattering on the ice. For a moment they were flying across the rink, glee rising in his blood, and then...Harry wasn’t sure which of them went down first, but they went down together in a tangle of limbs. Draco grunted as he landed on the floor, and Harry sat up wincing, wondering if Malfoy was going to yell at him.

But he wasn’t. He lay on his back on the ice and laughed, and laughed, and then looked at Harry leaning over him with a confused smile, and laughed some more. And Harry watched him, a fond smile on his face, and thought maybe these grey eyes flashing with laughter was a better way of being normal for Draco.

***

When he got home that night, covered in bruises and buzzing with fresh air and laughter and joy, he found the newspaper still crumpled in the corner of the kitchen. He pulled off the front page and threw the rest of it into the fire, standing close to warm his freezing legs back up, the blood tingling through his muscles. Then he carefully tore all the paper away from around the photo of him and Draco, threw that away as well, and flattened the picture of the two of them.

It gave him a strange swooping sensation in his stomach when he saw Draco’s blonde head bent over Harry’s shoulder, almost small in his arms even though he was a few inches taller than Harry. And when the Prophet came out the next day, he cut out the photo of Draco laughing and leaning on him as they struggled around the ice rink, and didn’t bother to read the scathing commentary, flattening the two photos in his old History of Magic textbook.

He found himself thinking of the two photos during Christmas at the Burrow, but the longer he stayed there, the more guilty he felt. Because Malfoy’s family had tried to destroy Arthur’s career, tried to kill Harry’s ex-girlfriend, Malfoy had insulted his found family at every opportunity for what they had and not what they were. Malfoy’s side had cost Fred his life, Bill his looks and George half of his soul.

But _Draco_ would have laughed at Arthur nearly singeing his eyebrows off lighting the Christmas pudding, his eyes would have lit up like Ron’s when Charlie suggested Quiddich, would have filled like Harry’s when Fleur told them about the daffodils she’d planted by Dobby’s grave ready for spring.

He wondered what kind of friend it made him if he was so willing to overlook all the awful things Draco Malfoy had done to his family just because he’d felt this strange connection with him over the past week. Well. He’d felt a strange pull to Malfoy for years, but it had never been so positive.

He grappled silently with this contradiction for four days after Christmas, and when Draco called on the Floo, he felt a wave of guilt for his stiff expression. “I’ve been invited to Pansy’s New Years’ Eve party,” he said. “I’ll be expected to bring my pretend boyfriend.”

“Draco…”

“I’m going to kiss you at midnight, Potter,” he said, still stiff and more like the Malfoy he’d known in Hogwarts than he’d seen since fifth year. “Because apparently that’s what people do in a relationship. Just…so you know. If you want to back out we can—“

“No, that’s fine.” Harry was almost as surprised as Draco that he’d blurted it out so fast. He must have eaten something strange, he thought. That was the only explanation for the swooping in his stomach he’d had just then. It must have distracted him.

But then he got it again when Draco arrived in the fireplace of Grimmauld place wearing skinny jeans and a long sleeved, low cut v-neck t-shirt. Harry stared open mouthed.

“What, Potter, have I got something on my shirt?”

“N—uh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Right,” Draco drawled. “Well, let’s go then.”

“It’s just…” Harry swallowed. “I’ve never seen you in Muggle clothes.”

Draco froze, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “It’s not…they’re not too good for me, if thats—“

“No! Not at all!”

“Because I’m not the same person I was, Harry, I am actually trying to fucking integrate, we all are.”

“I know—“

“Pansy especially. So if you…so help me, Potter, if you say anything—“

“Draco,” he said sharply, “I’m not going to start anything. Parkinson visited me after the war, she…we’re fine. Don’t worry.”

He sagged and pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry went closer, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. “You look…nice. That’s the only reason I mentioned it. It suits you.”

“Oh.” Draco looked up, grey eyes suddenly soft and painfully vulnerable for just an instant, and Harry wanted to hug him. What was _wrong_ with him?

He cleared his throat. “OK, should we go then?” He walked to the Floo without waiting for Draco to answer and appeared in Parkinson’s living room in a flare of green flame.

The music was so loud he barely noticed the change in volume when the entire room stopped their conversations and turned to stare at him, and Draco who’d appeared in the fireplace behind him.

“Oi!” yelled Parkinson, shoving through the crowd. “Go back to your drinks, bitches, haven’t you ever seen a Chosen One before?” She stopped just in front of him. “Potter.”

“Parkinson,” he said, holding back a smirk.

“Hurt my Draco and I’ll find another Dark Lord to give you up to.”

“Fucking _hell_ , Pans,” Draco groaned, covering his face with both hands.

Harry just laughed and hugged Parkinson, who looked horrified. “Message received. Thanks for having me.”

“Uh, sure, no problem.” She cast Draco a wide eyed look, and Harry realised that fucking with Slytherins was _fun_.

“Drink, babe?” He nudged Draco’s elbow. “Draco?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, uh, butterbeer, please.”

Parkinson snorted. “Fuck off you poof, it’s New Year’s Eve, get him a firewhiskey, Potter.”

“No, really—“

“Sure thing,” Harry said to her, and left them bickering. By the time he found his way back to him, drinks in hand, Parkinson had wandered off and Draco was standing on the balcony, glowering at the streets of Cambridge below.

“Here you go.”

“Potter, I really don’t want a—oh. You got me a butterbeer.”

Harry shrugged. “I just said OK to shut her up. I don’t care what you drink.”

They sipped in silence, watching the city streets bustle below.

“Good Christmas,” Harry asked eventually.

“Not really,” he said, picking at the label. “You?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty good, actually.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Draco, waving between them and still not looking at Harry. “There’s no-one looking at us.”

Harry was surprised how much that hurt. Stupid, really. Draco had been quite open with what he thought of the whole thing. He was only doing this so he could move on to someone better. “Fine,” said Harry stiffly. “Fine. Let’s go somewhere they can see us, hmm?”

“What?” Finally, the bastard looked at him.

Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, ignoring his twitching. “No point in this whole charade if nobody sees us, is there, Malfoy? No point in getting to know each other. Well, come on, you arsehole, dance with me. No talking, plenty of people watching us being all loved up, what are you waiting for?” He took Draco’s bottle and dumped it down on a mantlepiece, leading him into the crush of people in the magically enlarged living room. A song Harry didn’t recognise was playing, a heavy beat and dirty bass roaring in his ears. He grabbed Draco’s hips and tugged him close so they were almost nose to nose, trapped together by sweaty bodies on all sides. Draco’s eyes fluttered, then widened, and Harry glared at him as he started to sway. “Come on, Draco,” he growled, pressing his face close to Draco’s ear to be heard. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be _seen_ with me?”

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut and he groaned deep enough for Harry to feel it on his ribs. In one smooth move he spun Harry round and wrapped his arms around his chest and waist, pulling his arse flush agains this groin and dropping his head to his shoulder as he began to _move_. And holy shit, but it wasn’t just formal dancing he was good at.

His hips swayed perfectly in time with the heavy beat, his hands on Harry’s side, or stomach, holding him close or running along his skin, and it was Harry’s turn to be sideswiped because _oh god_ it felt good. He forgot all the agreements, all the life debt bullshit, forgot the time limit, and let one hand come up to bury itself in Draco’s hair, the fingers of the other covering Draco’s hand on his stomach and linking with his fingers so tight it hurt. He rolled his hips and swayed and closed his eyes until he was sweating and euphoric, head tipped back onto Draco’s shoulder, a pointy nose pressed against his jaw and…and smooth lips on his neck.

He opened his eyes and turned in Draco’s arms. He looked shocked and guilty, and almost ready to bolt and—

“Five! Four! Three!”

Harry grabbed his hand to stop him from running. Shuffled closer. Looked up at soft grey eyes, flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips.

“Two!”

Harry licked his lips and saw Draco’s pupils dilate.

“One!”

Their noses were touching. He could feel Draco’s breath fluttering on his face.

“Happy new year!”

He tilted his chin up just far enough to press the lightest kiss on Draco’s lips.

It was like lightening sparked at the brush of their skin, and Draco gasped like he’d been punched. Harry pulled back and stared at him, eyes wide and wild searching for something, he didn’t know what. He cupped Draco’s cheeks with both hands and pulled him back down again, and when they kissed it was _everything_. It was what they’d always said it should be, honey and spice and fire and crackling down his spine. He breathed in deeply through his nose, his fingers digging into Draco’s hair, and felt strong arms twine around him, pulling him so hard to Draco’s chest that he could feel his thundering heartbeat.

He whimpered when they disconnected, wanting to pull Draco back in, have him again, have all of him. 

“Was that…” Draco’s voice was rough and hushed, and he tightened his fingers on Harry’s waist, drawing a shaky breath. “Was that just the life debt?”

Harry pulled his face back but left his fingers tangled in Draco’s hair. At this distance he had to flick his gaze from eye to eye, watching for the slightest micro-expression. “Is that what it was for you?”

Draco swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, and Harry could see he was terrified. He shook his head. 

“Good,” he growled, and pulled him close again, drinking in Draco’s moan as his tongue curled into his mouth. _Good._


	7. Harry - Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK guys, this is the only chapter that earns the E rating! If you don't like that sort of thing you can skip it without missing out on too much plot lol! I'll put a quick note at the start of chapter 8 to catch you up on the emotional stuff ^_^

They stumbled back through the fireplace, barely releasing each other, pulling at each other’s clothes and gasping into each others’ skin as they touched. Draco trailed a line of kisses down Harry’s neck from behind his ear, sucking light bruises into the skin. “Wanted to do this for so long,” he whispered, and Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a wave of warmth and desire. “Harry, I’ve wanted you for so long, please…please…”

“I want you, too, Draco, come on,” he said, pulling on his hips, tugging him towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s go to my room, fuck, I want you.”

When he pulled back and linked their fingers together, the look on Draco’s face almost sent him to his knees, vulnerable and desperate and _shit_ , is this how he’d been feeling the whole time? Harry tugged his hand and led him up to his room, pushing the door shut gently. 

The moment the latch clicked he felt self conscious, biting his lip as he turned back to Draco, who looked like every mask he’d ever worn had been torn away. He stared at Harry like he was the only thing that mattered, and Harry could feel himself blushing, suddenly shy.

Then Draco stepped forwards and stroked the backs of his fingers across his cheeks, carding into his hair. “This hair,” he murmured. “I fucking love your ridiculous hair. I’ve wanted to touch it since I was fourteen and a confused arsehole.”

“You’re still a confused arsehole,” Harry smirked, leaning up to kiss him gently.

Draco pressed their foreheads together. “Are you…are you sure? Is this OK? I…please don’t say yes, and then regret it, Harry, I can’t…please choose now, I swear there’ll be no hard feelings if you say no.”

Harry held his cheeks and tilted his face so he could meet his eyes. “I can’t say I’ve felt like this as long as you have,” he admitted, “but you’ve been making me crazy since I first met you, and I just…my life revolved around you even before I realised how much I _liked_ you. Even when you’re not around, I’m thinking about you. And when you _are_ around…Draco, have you any idea how beautiful you are? I just…I didn’t want to admit it, but I’ve been wondering what your lips feel like, wondering what your skin tastes like, wondering…wondering how it’s going to feel when you open me up and push inside me, and yes…yes, I want you. I want this.”

Draco’s breath rushed out in one long whoosh, and he wrapped both arms around Harry, kissing him deeply. His hands pulled shakily on Harry’s shirt, tugging it until Harry had to take his glasses off so he could pull it over his head. “Off,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, and Harry shuddered in anticipation. He stripped his jeans and boxers off as Draco tugged his own shirt over his head. 

There was a bandage covering the Dark Mark, and Harry was expecting to see scars across his chest. There weren’t any. He even brushed his fingers down to check for silvery marks, but Draco lifted his hands and kissed them. “Dittany,” he said. “Some of us know how to deal with scars,” he smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes, wrapped his other hand around Draco’s waist and pulled him close, dropping his head to flick his tongue around Draco’s nipple, pressing his cock closer as his sharp inhale sent a wave of lust through him. He brushed his teeth over the hard pink nub, and Draco moaned. 

“Fuck, you’re responsive, aren’t you?” Harry pulled on his jeans button. “But why are you still dressed.”

“Someone distracted me,” he said breathlessly. He stepped back and squirmed out of his skinny jeans and pants, releasing his long cock to bounce free, curved and leaking. Harry’s mouth watered. He bent down, helping Draco’s feet out of his ridiculously tight trousers, and then looked up through his lashes.

Draco let out a gasp as Harry put both hands on his hips, thumbs brushing the blonde curls and fingers finding the hollow at each side of his arse. He ran his nose up and down the side of his cock, then took the head in his lips, tonguing at the slit. Draco groaned and put both hands on his head, holding himself up more than holding Harry still. He rolled his tongue around the glans, tasting his precome, feeling the hard warmth of him between his lips. He closed his eyes as he sank down on his length, until the head hit his soft palate. He pulled back off, holding him still with one hand, one thumb stroking along the heavy vein at the bottom, running up from his balls to the saliva damp shaft until he reached his own lips, then sliding down again. He could feel his muscles move, pumping into his mouth involuntarily, and he wondered how much practice he’d have to have before he could take him all the way in, down his throat.

“Harry,” gasped Draco, raw and broken. He pulled his hair, tugging him away so his cock fell out of Harry’s mouth with a pop. He stroked Harry’s cheekbone, and he grinned up crookedly at the blur of his face. Draco knelt down too and kissed him, tasting himself on Harry’s tongue, long, cool fingers wrapping around him so that he whimpered into the kiss, smearing his precome down his cock and making warm electric sparks shoot through his spine. He broke the kiss and pushed on Harry’s hips, turning him so that he was bent over his bed, knees buried in the deep rug, cheek pressed down on his duvet. Draco whispered a lube charm and shuffled behind him, pressing his left hand down on both Harry’s wrists, the rough bandage over his arm rubbing against his skin and making the hair stand up, stretching him out over the bed and kissing along his shoulder blades.

Harry’s body tingled with anticipation as Draco kissed and nipped and licked his spine. When the cool, slick fingers wrapped around his cock he cried out in pleasure, pushing his hips forward to slide though the tight circle of Draco’s fist. Draco’s slick hand cupped his balls, rubbing and rolling, then moved further back until they brushed over his hole, circling and pressing, before starting back again at his cock. 

By the time he breached him with one finger Harry was pushing backwards, his head hanging between his arms, moaning and begging. Draco’s slick finger slid in and out of him, rubbing on his walls, and it wasn’t enough. “More, more, please Draco,” he gasped, and Draco nipped his shoulder. 

“You sure?” he teased, low and just breathy enough that Harry could tell he was watching, turning himself on seeing his fingers disappear into Harry’s body.

“Fuck, yes, more, come on.”

He kissed his waist and pulled out, only to press straight back in with two fingers, scissoring and twisting, and it still wasn’t enough. Harry whimpered and scrabbled on the duvet, clutching at the cloth and arching his back. He heard Draco’s sharp exhale as he pushed his arse up and smiled to himself, doing it again. “Oh, Merlin, you’re so fucking beautiful, Harry,” he groaned.

“What are you waiting for, then?” he said, breathless. He cried out as a third finger joined, stretching him, filling him that little bit more. “Come on, Draco, fuck me, please.”

Draco groaned and moved behind him, his fingers slipping out. Harry pushed back, trying to follow the sensation, but instead there was a blunt cock head pressing into him. He tipped his head back, his body on fire as Draco pushed in, and in, and _that_ was perfect. He moaned, his hands still gripped tightly on the top of the bed, and turned to kiss the inside of Draco’s elbow. “Oh, god, you feel so perfect, Draco, fuck. You feel so damn good.”

Draco had his head pressed hard against his shoulder blades, his right hand on Harry’s hip. He slipped it, still slick with lube, along Harry’s stomach, so close to his cock, and pulled his body up so they were pressed close. He undulated slightly, and Harry cried out as it just brushed against his prostate. “Keep talking, Harry,” he whispered, kissing his neck. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” he moaned. “So fucking good, move. Move, Draco.” He clenched and Draco hissed.

“You keep doing that and I won’t be able to move, I’ll be coming too quickly.”

Harry chuckled, then gasped as Draco slid out and pushed back in. “Yes, more of that. Fuck, the feel of you!” He bit his lip as Draco picked up the pace, his skin covered in pins and needles. “Oh god, you fit me perfectly.”

Draco growled and let go of his hands to pull his chest up, tilting him so every thrust hit his prostate. Harry cried out, reaching behind him to tangle in his hair as Draco sucked and bit on his neck. Sparks were flying behind his eyes and he wasn’t coherent enough to speak any more, heat spreading through his body. “I’m… _fuck_ …I’m close, please…please…” Draco’s arm tightened around his chest, groaning in his ear, pressing his face into Harry’s neck, and his hand moved lower to wrap around Harry’s cock, pulling hard and fast. He arched his back as Draco slammed into his prostate, flicking his thumb over the top of his cock, and he was coming, crying out, clenching around Draco. His entire body felt like it was made of stardust, sparking and drifting, and he heard Draco moan and bite his neck, the sharp pain just enough to make him twitch as Draco spilled inside him.

They flopped together on the bed, breathing hard, sweaty bodies pressed tightly together. Harry turned his head and smiled at Draco. “If I stay like this I will fall asleep.”

Draco laughed and pulled him close. “I don’t want to move.”

“All we have to do is crawl onto the bed, it’s not that far away.”

“Easy for you to say,” he sighed. “I’m comfortable here.”

“Liar.” He patted his arm. “Come on. It’ll be warmer in bed with me.”

Draco pulled back just far enough to look at Harry from under his pale lashes. “You want me to stay?”

Harry felt cold. “You…I mean, you don’t _have_ to.”

“Of course I want to,” he said in a rush of breath. “I mean…no, fuck it. No more games. I want to. I’ve wanted to for years. But is that OK with you?”

Harry grinned in relief. “Yeah. As long as you don’t mind that I’m secretly an octopus.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, Harry.”


	8. Draco - The Importance of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick round-up for those of you who missed chapter 7 - Harry realised that Draco's been crazy about him since he was 14, and that he's also a little bit crazy about Draco. Basically they stopped playing games and pretending...

Draco woke up with Harry pressed against his back from head to toe, his nose against the back of his neck, their legs tangled, and his arm draped over his waist. It took a moment for him to calm the butterflies that had woken up at the realisation that he was little spoon for Harry bloody Potter, the person he’d loved and hated and worshiped for most of his life. He’d told him how long he’d wanted him, and Harry hadn’t backed off. He’d _wanted him back_. And he was wrapped around him on New Year’s Day, and Draco thought he was going to spontaneously combust if he stayed still a moment longer.

He managed to slide out of Harry’s grasp and find his clothes, and then the bathroom. That didn’t help his state of excitement, because he had love bites all along his collarbone and a stupid grin that wouldn’t go away.

He padded along the hallway again. Harry was still fast asleep, though he’d grabbed Draco’s pillow to cuddle instead. Draco’s soppy smile just got bigger, and he watched him sleep, watched the muscles of his shoulder shift with his breathing, until he realised that was probably a bit creepy and he should definitely find something more constructive to do. He found a scrap of parchment and some sort of muggle quill and wrote Harry a quick note, tucking it into his hand before slipping quietly from the room.

His bare feet padded noiselessly along the carpeted hallway, down the creaky steps and through rooms flooded with light from high windows. The winter sun was weak even so late in the morning, but the world seemed to glow from inside with warmth, and it definitely had nothing to do with Draco being the happiest he’d felt since he was very young.

Eventually he found himself in a cream and yellow coloured kitchen, slightly below ground level with the sun coming in through the sash windows at a strange angle, the unmowed grass in the garden dripping with sparkling frost, the ground at around hip level. He flicked on the kettle and stood staring out at goldfinches and blue tits hanging off a suet feeder from a skeleton tree, his hands wrapped around a cooling mug of tea. 

A slight creaking from the floor above startled him into blinking, and he realised he’d been standing in the same position in perfect peace for over half an hour, and Harry was now awake. Immediately butterflies started stirring in his belly and he wondered whether he should go upstairs, maybe take him a cup of tea.

Or maybe he could make breakfast. Draco knew he was spoilt and had been waited on for his entire childhood, but task rotations in Azkhaban, brought in by policy changes to the system, had given him enough experience in the kitchens. He knew how to make scrambled eggs, at least. The kitchen rotation had been the only one he enjoyed, reminding him of potions lessons. He’d even kept it up after he got home, adding different quantities of milk and butter to his eggs, mixing nutmeg in with white sauce for carbonara. He’d never made anything with more than a few ingredients, and when Mother had seen him in the kitchen she’d looked so horrified and distraught he’d decided to avoid it, but he thought he could probably surprise Harry. Especially…Draco smirked as he heard the shower starting up. Especially with a little extra time.

By the time Harry’s feet creaked down the stairs, the eggs were just beginning to stiffen up, yellow and sleek in the saucepan. There were slices of buttered toast on two plates, and a cup of tea steaming on the table where he’d laid out the cutlery. Draco suddenly felt self conscious and didn’t want to turn around. He’d thought this was a good idea, something…nice. But what if Harry didn’t want nice? What if he was too used to him being an arsehole and this was weird?

“Draco…what are you doing?”

He switched off the heat, then steeled himself and turned on his heel, gripping the counter behind him for strength. “I know it’s hard for your tiny mind to parse out the details, Potter, but I did think you might recognise breakfast.”

Harry let out a funny breath, shaky and uncertain, his hand coming up to tangle in his too-long hair. “You…you didn’t have to…this is…”

“What?” he asked, dropping the sarcastic tone. “What, do you….oh Merlin, you’re not allergic to eggs, are you? Why do you have them in your fridge?”

“You…you made me breakfast.” Harry’s voice was suddenly very small and very young. “Molly’s the only other person who…”

With a rush the memory surfaced, the throwaway comment from the first night, how his aunt had made him cook from a very young age, and he hadn’t been allowed to eat with them. In two long strides he reached him and wrapped him up in his arms, pulling him tight against his chest and rubbing his back, trying to soothe the slight tremor. Harry pressed his face to his collarbone and drew in another shaky breath, the only sound in the kitchen.

“Sorry,” he said at last, drawing back, his hands on Draco’s hips.

“Don’t be,” he said, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Harry’s cheek.


	9. Harry - More Than Three Months

The eggs were some of the most delicious things Harry had ever tasted, at the top of the list of greatest breakfasts of his life, along with Molly’s huge fry up the day Ron and the twins had rescued him from Privet Drive, cold sausages from Hagrid’s pocket, and his very first morning at Hogwarts. As the sun peered through grey clouds and tried to warm up the first day of a new year, Harry tangled his feet with Draco’s and smiled shyly over a cup of tea, clearing his plate and feeling happiness spread through his body from his stomach, pushing a lump up through his throat and making tears prick at his eyes. As Draco stood and took his plate he held his wrist and didn’t let himself think to hard about it, just pressed his forehead onto his warm body. Draco tensed for a moment, then lowered his hand to his hair and ran his fingers through the curls time after time.

Harry set one of Molly’s charms to do the dishes. Draco leaned over and kissed his cheekbone. “I have to go home,” he murmured.

Harry’s heart dropped miserably, and he chided himself for being so ridiculously needy. Not an attractive trait. But he’d never felt like this about anyone, never so close to giving into that urge to cling on to someone and not let them go. He’d never thought he’d get it until now, until the tiny seed of an idea that Draco might possibly be persuaded. 

The idea grew in his mind as he followed Draco to the living room, tingling in his stomach as he reached for the Floo powder. If he asked, would Draco stay? If he clung, would he be able to keep someone near?

Draco kissed him softly, lips soft and pecking on his. He stroked through Harry’s hair, pushing it off his forehead, leaned back and smiled. “See you tomorrow in Diagon, OK?”

Harry nodded, clenching his fingers in Draco’s shirt over his hips before forcing himself to let go. Draco threw his handful of glittery black powder into the flames and stepped in as they turned green. “Malfoy Manor,” he called loudly.

And Harry leaped. He and Draco stumbled out of the fire together, clutching at each other, kissing hard, noses pressed close, barely breathing, pulling nearer. “I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to go…I…please don’t go, Draco.”

He chuckled softly. “Uh, do you want me to not go anywhere from here, or…?”

“No,” Harry said, his heart thundering as he stepped back to catch his eye. “No, I didn’t mean…I meant after the three months is over. After…after the life debt is paid. Don’t…I don’t want you to go then. I want…I want to keep you. Do you think—“

The vast oak door creaked and Narcissa walked in, heels clicking on the marble before she got to the massive rug that dominated the centre of the living room. “Draco…oh, Mr Potter. Harry, excuse me. How lovely to see you.”

Draco turned around, letting go of Harry to kiss her on the cheek. His hands felt empty. Narcissa came forward and took them, but it wasn’t the same. “Harry,” she said, smiling at him almost affectionately. Harry went on his guard immediately. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re doing this for Draco.”

“I didn’t…”

“I know I didn’t give you a choice, but you’re going above and beyond the call of duty. The newspaper articles are already starting to post Draco in a more positive light, and images of him smiling so often show his face off most attractively. This is better PR than I ever hoped for.” She turned back to take Draco’s hand, and her happy smile, the way she looked at him like she so obviously adored him and would do anything for him - well, Harry knew that was the truth. “You don’t know how important this is to me, Harry,” she said, and he felt lead weights settle into his stomach. “Thank you. Will you stay for tea?”

“Uh…no,” he said, aware that his voice sounded weak, quieter than usual. “I must get back.”

“Very well. I’ll leave you two to organise your next outing, shall I?”

She left, her heels echoing down the hallway, her voice distantly calling for one of the house elves. “Harry,” said Draco, and he sounded almost as gutted as Harry. 

That’s what made it easier, in the end. Harry looked up and smiled. “It’s OK,” he said, stroking Draco’s cheek. “It’s OK. I understand. She’s your mum.”

“Harry…”

He leaned up and kissed him. “It’s OK,” he said again, and maybe he’d believe it one day. “We’ll just…make the most of these three months, yeah?”


	10. Draco - The Lupin Memorial Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummm...I'm sorry for the angst...
> 
> There's a bit of self harm in this chapter as well

Draco forced himself to look in the ornate mirror that hung over the living room fireplace. Check the formal robes looked immaculate. He could do this. The Lupin Memorial Ball was important to Harry for more than one reason and _he could do this._

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, and he could hear the raw panic in his own voice as every worst case scenario whirled around his mind in a tornado. He dug his thumbnail into his forearm until he whimpered, until the pain sliced through the haze and he could think again.

He flexed his hand as the Floo whooshed, and couldn’t stop the smile that warmed his cheeks to see Harry tumble out, his hair in the usual chaos even when his formal robes fit him perfectly. The last two weeks had been an exercise in balancing utopia and misery, heaven wrapped around Harry’s body whispering softly to him in bed, or teasing him, fighting a war of words with grins instead of scowls, and kissing, always kissing, never planning anything beyond February. Never admitting to each other that they were both unconsciously aware of the date, the hourglass that hung overhead. When Harry wasn’t there, it all came back to him. He found himself struggling to hold a smile on his face. Mother was looking worried again, like she had just before his sentence began, or just after he’d come back, and she kept almost saying something, then biting her lip and hurrying away. But when Harry was there he made sure he focused everything on him and the time they had now.

“Hi,” said Harry, a matching smile blooming over his face as he cast a cleaning charm and kissed Draco. Draco sagged into his arms, barely able to hold back the groan of bliss to feel his lips moving over his own, his hands wrapped tightly around his waist. 

“You ready?” Harry asked, pulling back. His green eyes sparkled behind his glasses, eager and guileless. Draco nodded. Whatever pressure, whatever tests he was going to be put through tonight, they wouldn’t be coming from Harry.

Or at least, not deliberately. This was the first time Draco would see Harry’s friends since the Battle of Hogwarts two years ago, and he had no illusions. If he couldn't charm Harry’s friends he’d very quickly become not worth his trouble, even if he could find some way to convince Mother that blood status meant nothing any more. Harry’s friends were the most important things in his world and they hated Draco. He didn’t blame them. In fact, he wouldn’t blame them if they refused to give him even half a chance. It’s not like he deserved it with everything he’d done. He pulled Harry closer. Tonight might be the beginning of the end. Harry might be relieved when the three months were up.

The ballroom at Buckleberry Hall was stunning, decorated in shades of silver and black. Firefly pixies fluttered around in sparks of green, and if he squinted he could just see a little pixie refreshment bar tastefully arranged in the big central chandelier, so the pixies were concentrated in the middle of the room, making a sort of glowing, diffuse robe. Draco smirked even through his fear. Granger or Lovegood’s work, surely.

“Oi, Harry!” Draco felt Harry’s hand jerked from his suddenly, and he turned with a flood of panic to see a short blonde man and a stocky black man piled on Harry, tackling him to the floor. “How’ve you been, mate?”

“Hey, Seamus, Dean,” Harry laughed, his glasses skewed over his face. “Ugh, let me up you bastards, I can’t breathe.”

They hauled him to his feet, all three of them talking at the same time. Draco tried not to fidget or look too awkward or left out.

As if he’d said it aloud, Harry turned, seeking him out, and grabbed his arm. “You guys remember Draco?” he said, somehow managing to make it sound completely innocent. Secret Slytherin bastard that he was.

Thomas and Finnegan snorted. “Yeah, vaguely,” smirked Thomas. “I always knew there was something more to all that stalking you did in sixth year.”

Harry’s brown cheeks flared bright red. “I wasn’t stalking!”

“Even I knew you were stalking me,” Draco said casually. Thomas snorted again, leaning on Finnegan.

Harry turned, looking gutted. “I’m sorry, Draco—“

“Don’t be daft, Harry, I deserved it.” Harry still looked upset, so Draco nudged him. “I know it wasn’t…like that.”

“It really wasn’t.” Merlin, those puppy eyes should have been illegal.

“Hey, uh, Malfoy,” said Finnegan, shuffling his feet. “My, uh…my condolences about your dad, yeah?”

Draco dropped his gaze for a moment as the group went quiet. He nodded and forced himself to meet Finnegan’s gaze. “Thank you,” he said simply. What else was there to say? 

The two Gryffindors drifted away and Harry put his hand on Draco’s back. “I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I know I never said…I didn’t know how, I guess.” He pulled on his hair. “Didn’t know if it’d be welcome,” he added in a mutter.

Draco shrugged flippantly. “You didn’t kill him, Potter.” He regretted the use of his last name immediately, when Harry flinched. “Sorry,” he sighed. “My father and I…we had a lot of issues at the end. A lot of stuff was left unresolved, and that’s my fault. I could have visited him in Azkhaban after I got out, but…” But he hadn’t wanted to. He’d hated him. Thought he was a coward and a fool. Like father, like son.

He took a deep breath, his right thumb aching to dig into his left arm, but he forced himself to smile at Harry instead. “Come on, let’s go find more idiot Gryffindors to tackle you to the floor.”

Harry’s green eyes softened with relief and he gripped Draco’s hand, leading him around the room. It seemed like every person there wanted to stop and talk to Harry, and most of them managed to refrain from glaring daggers at Draco. They mostly just ignored him in favour of the Chosen One, and Draco found himself relieved. Strange, considering how he’d demanded attention as a schoolboy. But now he wasn’t so busy fuming over someone else getting it, he could see how much it stressed Harry out, how his voice became strained and breathy when he spoke to people who weren’t close friends, almost an octave higher and threadlike. How his shoulder blades drew together and he used the same answers time after time. ‘Fine, thanks.’ ‘No, I decided to take some time off.’ ‘Yes, I’m really dating Draco.’

He wished he could do something to help, but they barely had a chance to talk. Harry’s finger grew tighter and tighter around his own, and he felt his heartbeat rise with the low level tension, trying to think of something that could help before one of them snapped.

And then Weasley and Granger appeared, and Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief. His hand slipped out of Draco’s so he could grab them in turn, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from squeezing his forearm. It didn’t work.

Weasley turned to Draco, his eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit, but he held out his had. Draco clasped it quickly, desperate to make a good impression.

But Granger…last time he’d seen her she’d been twisting on his floor, screaming, in the same room Harry had kissed him. There were marks in the marble that would never come out, and had to be covered by that huge new carpet. He saw her there again, head thrown back in excruciating pain and he’d…he’d stood there and watched, and held back the tears and the vomit because if he’d shown Aunt Bella how weak he was she’d have turned on him and he was a _coward_. 

She was wearing a sleeveless gown, her arms bare, and when she held out her right hand he saw…he saw the letters carved into her, a word _he’d_ spat towards her more than once, gouged into her skin, keloid scars standing out almost white against her dark skin, and it was like he’d put them there with his own spite and stupidity and evil.


	11. Draco - Make Me Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK this is probably the worst chapter in terms of angst and panic and self-harm and...I'm sorryyyyyyyy! There will be fluff again I promise!

Draco barely made it through the door of the bathroom stall before he was throwing up, his stomach cramping, back curled over the toilet bowl and fingers scrabbling for purchase to hold him up. Every time he thought he could catch his breath he saw Granger writhing, screaming on the floor in his own house, his aunt snarling in vicious glee as she cast Cruico after Crucio. Bile spat through his nose and he choked, tears pouring down his face as he gasped and tried to wrestle control back over his treacherous body. Nothing worked, nothing _worked_ and he was running out of air, running out of anything to expel.

“Draco, what the hell was…shit, are you OK?” Harry knelt down beside him, cramped together in the bathroom stall and Draco just wanted him to _go away_ , leave him to his humiliation. But Harry’s hand, firm and warm on his back gave him just enough pause to gulp some air through pathetic sobs. But then he smelled blood, and saw the letters being carved into her skin, a word he’d used against Granger too, and he threw himself forwards once again.

At last his body seemed drained, and Draco sagged against the toilet seat, his sweaty forehead pressed against his lower arm. He felt like cloth roughly wrung out, his ears ringing and his throat gouged.

“Come on,” said Harry beside him, and Draco twitched, having forgotten he was even there. “Let’s get you home.” He cast cleaning charms and helped him to his feet, letting him lean against his side and walk unsteadily to the sinks and mirrors. He looked like utter shit.

Harry leaned him against the wall and transfigured a handkerchief into a rough mug, filling it with an Aguamenti. Draco rinsed his mouth and spat a few times before drinking the cool water. He slid the pads of his fingers up and down the cup, the weave of the fabric still tangible in the imperfect transfiguration. He could still smell sick. 

Harry brushed his hair back from his face, and Draco leaned into his touch, his eyes closing, his cheek pressing against Harry’s palm. He hated his body for having so little control, but Harry’s cool, damp fingers felt so good against his heated skin he could cry. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough and cracking. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Why was Harry even here? What was he doing with a worthless convict, a coward of such uselessness that he’d even failed as a Death Eater? “Tell Granger…will you tell her I’m so, so sorry, for everything? Please?”

Harry stroked his sweaty hair away from his forehead. “It’s OK, babe, you can tell her yourself when you’ve settled down, OK? Let’s get you home now.”

“No!” He clutched at Harry’s robes. “No, I need her to know why—I want to swear I’ll never use that…” he gulped. “That _word_ again, and if she needs the scars removed I’ll…I’ll find someone. I’ve spoken to all the skin healers in Britain, I’ll pay for the best, I…I swear, I’ll swear an Unbreakable—“

“Draco, Draco, calm down, it’s OK—“

The door burst open and Weasley towered over them. “What the hell was that, Harry? I thought you said he’d changed, but what, he can’t even bring himself to touch Hermione?”

“Ron, it’s not like that,” said Harry, letting Draco’s arms go. Draco pressed the heels of his shaking hands into his eyes. 

“What is it then?” Weasley demanded. “Because I swear if he still thinks of Hermione as a mud—“

“No!” Draco shrieked. If he heard that word he _knew_ , he knew he’d be hurled back to that night, or to the nightmares where he was the one cutting into her, his own twelve year old voice spitting the word. The bathroom disappeared behind a haze of panic, lights sparking behind his eyes, and he pressed his arm, but it wasn’t enough. He felt his knees buckling, started hammering at his arm, but not even the pain was cutting through the screaming tornado of panic.

He felt arms on him, strong hands pulling him up, voices raised as his wrists were restrained, and he fought. If he could tear the mark off with his own fingernails maybe he could tear the past away, maybe it could be his sacrifice, maybe, maybe if he could tear his shame off his own arm the word would disappear from Granger’s, but the wouldn’t let him try.

Then a body pressed itself against his chest, keeping him warm and hidden and safe, and the tornado muted just a little.

He heard himself sob. Heard Harry say “I’ve got him, Ron, you can let his wrists go.”

“He’s bleeding a lot, mate.” 

“Yeah, I know, I’ll get him back to mine and clean him up.”

“You sure? You need a hand in case he—“

“Nah, Ron. Thanks. Say…say sorry to Hermione for us, would you? I’ll come over on Wednesday.”

A tight pressure around Draco’s arms was released and he immediately clutched the robes on Harry’s back, leaning on him more than he thought Harry could handle, but he didn’t think he could support himself. Pressed against him like this, shaking and gasping and crying, he felt like if Harry moved away it would tear the front of him clean off, crack his ribs open and leave him to bleed.

The door opened and shut on the periphery of hearing, under the howling of the wind in Draco’s head. He could hear Harry talking in his ear, gentle words he couldn’t see to differentiate, but soothed him all the same. Then there was the pull of Apparition and he was being lowered. He clutched harder. He couldn’t let Harry go.

“Ugh, Draco, let me…I need to get stuff for your arms.”

Draco just clung harder, whimpering as his hyperventilation started to pick up again. Shame was for later.

“OK,” sighed Harry, and they fell together onto a bed. Harry tried to arrange them side by side, but Draco lay on his back and pulled Harry so he was lying on top of him, pressing down on his ribs, the weight of him holding all the broken pieces still. “OK,” said Harry again. “OK. I’m here. Can you breathe with me on you like this? OK.” 

His thumb started stroking rhythmically on Draco’s wet cheek, and he buried his nose in Harry’s curls, feeling them flutter with his breath.


	12. Harry - Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think by now it's probably obvious that there's going to be references to self-harm...but here's the comfort part of the hurt/comfort!

Eventually Draco’s breathing settled into regular pace and his hands relaxed on Harry’s robes.

“Can I clean your arm now, please?” Harry asked, keeping his voice down, hoping he could keep Draco calm.

Draco’s hands twitched, tensing on Harry’s hips, but he sighed and nodded. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, and Harry Accioed the first aid kit rather than leave him looking so drained and red eyed. “Muggle antiseptic cream,” he said, popping the green suitcase shaped box open. “I’ve never been very good at healing charms. Ron said they hurt more than they help because they keep reversing themselves for some reason.” He shuddered slightly, remembering a cut Ron had that kept springing apart even after he’d sealed it shut. “I’ve always been good at Muggle stuff though.”

Draco’s eyes snapped up to him, and Harry grimaced at the awareness there. Yes, so he’d hidden a little first aid kit under his bed in the cupboard from an early age, but that was a good thing! It’d been very useful. He ducked his head anyway and started unbuttoning Draco’s robes, helping to slide them off. He hissed in sympathy when he saw the blood soaked bandage. Draco just raised his knees and sank his head down on them.

When the arm was bare Harry stared at it for a moment.

“Don’t,” whispered Draco. “Please don’t look at me.”

“Draco…why?” He ran gentle fingers around the inflamed skin, cross hatched with scars and fresh wounds, almost all concentrated over the Dark Mark that still made Harry’s body hair stand up. Draco didn’t answer, his hand clenching and unclenching so Harry could feel the tendons move under his thumb. he sighed and rested Draco’s hand in his lap, tipping out some hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball. “This is going to sting.”

Draco nodded, his face still pressed against his knees, and Harry concentrated on cleaning every cut, spreading cream on the whole mess, and covering it with a large surgical plaster.

“I hated it the moment I got it,” Draco said, his voice slightly muffled. “It made my skin crawl, I wanted it _off_. But I couldn’t touch it while _he_ was alive. The first cuts were just symbolic. That night, after the battle, just two shallow scratches crossing it out. They barely bled.”

Harry stayed still, Draco’s hand now limp in his lap, and listened. Draco sounded distant, like he didn’t even know the words were spilling from him.

“When I was in Azkhaban,” he continued, his voice still bland, toneless, “I was so scared all the time, but I couldn’t show it. I’d have been the perfect target. One night I just…I was so angry, I wanted it GONE. I cut it again, deeper and deeper, but the mark was still there, under the skin, as deep as I could go. Nott found me. Theo’s dad. He was a guard, not all of us Slytherins were on the wrong side. He’s really good at healing magic. Said if I was going to try to top myself I could do it on someone else’s watch.” Draco laughed. “I wasn’t trying to. I just wanted it gone. I never…I never cut that deep again. There isn’t even a scar from that time. But…it was the only thing that stopped the screaming. In my head. I hurt myself and suddenly I could think again. Or…not think. It depends. Either way, it helped. It helps.”

He let out a long breath and sagged. He hadn’t lifted his head from his knees. “I’m so pathetic.”

Harry picked his hand up, lifted it to his lips and kissed his wrist. Turned his arm, pulled it closer and kissed around the bandage.

“What are you doing?” Draco whispered.

Harry turned his head to meet Draco’s eyes, wide and damp, a fabric print from his trousers pressed into the skin of his forehead. “I don’t think you’re pathetic, Draco. I think you’re really brave.”

He looked away, and to Harry’s horror he saw his lips trembling. “I’m not brave, Harry. I'm such a coward. I always have been and I just…I don’t know how you can stand to be around me.”

Harry cupped his cheek. “You’re facing up to the things you did before, and you’re working so hard to change it, even when people don’t give you a chance.” Hot tears soaked between his fingers and he tugged Draco close to rest against his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Draco laughed and sniffled. “You really hate it when people cry, don’t you?”

Harry frowned. “I…yeah, I guess so.” He rearranged them both so they lay, still in the remains of their formals, under the heavy duvet. “I guess…if I cried when I was younger I always ended up in more trouble.”

Draco squeezed him tight and pressed their bodies together. “I’m sorry, Harry. All the stuff you’ve lived through has been dumped on you, and me…I’m so fucking broken and taking your sympathy but I brought all of this on myself.”

Harry laughed and pressed his nose into Draco’s hair, relishing the warmth that flooded through him when he realised how much he loved his smell, the feel of his solid shoulders and bony arms digging into his side. “Don't be silly.”

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head so Harry had to brush strands of blonde hair out of his face. “You protect everyone, Harry, who’s protecting you?”

“I don’t…need that,” he said awkwardly.

“I know you _can_ look after yourself,” he said, voice low and soft. “And I know I’m not anyone’s first choice for a protector, but I…I want to look after you.”

Harry closed his eyes, embarrassed by how they were prickling. He pulled his glasses off and dropped them on the side table, and pressed his face to Draco’s head. He wanted that so much, and he hated how much he wanted it. Because this wasn’t going to last. Narcissa was going to marry Draco off to a good pureblood.

“When we were in school,” Draco continued softly, dreamily, “I used to imagine saving you from something, swooping in and pulling you away from dragons or merfolk. But instead I just made it worse, didn’t I? I acted like one of the things I wanted to save you from.” He pushed himself up on his elbow and stroked Harry’s cheek. “I want to make up for that. I want to be here for you like you’ve been there for everyone.”

Colours blurred as Harry looked up and Draco’s brow crumpled. “Oh, Harry, I didn’t mean to make _you_ cry.” He stroked the tears away from Harry’s cheeks, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the flood. 

He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and pulled him close. “I don’t want to give you up,” he blurted, pressing his face into Draco’s neck. “I don’t want you to go off and marry a pureblood, I want… _I_ want you.”

Draco stroked his fingers through his hair. “Merlin, Harry, I want you too.” He sniffed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He hesitated, then pulled him closer. “Mother can’t make me marry someone I don’t want to.”

“But…but you said she’s all you have left…” Harry shifted and tried to stop the cruel hope swelling through him. Draco might say all of this now, but his mum meant so much to him. He’d choose her. He had to, she was his _mum_.

Draco moved his lips down the side of his head to kiss his temple. “But I’m all she has, too. She’ll understand. All that pureblood crap doesn’t mean anything anymore. Well, not to me, anyway.”

Harry suppressed a sob and pulled Draco’s face up, kissing him hard, wishing he could pour himself into Draco, be kept somewhere safe behind his heart. He couldn’t let himself believe that Draco would choose him, but he could have this, and bury himself in it. He’d put the broken pieces of himself back together afterwards.


	13. Draco - Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COMFORTCOMFORTCOMFORT! I hope you enjoy this last, very soppy chapter, and I hope it wasn't too angsty for Christmas??

Draco woke up at almost noon, aching and reluctant. He felt worse the day after a panic attack than he ever had after a hangover. But he was curled around Harry’s back, and there was no end to the things he’d do to find himself in that situation.

Wild black strands of hair fluttered in his breath and tickled his face. He wiped the sensation away from his lips and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, closing his eyes and just breathing him in. He felt like the calm centre of a storm, like he’d finally decided what really mattered and was just steeling his determination for the battles they might face. Even when he’d had real battles to fight he’d never felt this kind of courage. He’d never had a good enough reason to fight. This could be the moment he’d been moving towards his entire life, and anything would be worthwhile to keep Harry safe and by his side. 

Not that that could silence the thought that it might not be worth it for Harry, not really. Sure he’d _said_ last night that he wanted to keep him, but did he know what kind of trouble Draco would be? He’d got a taste of it with that awful, humiliating display last night. Would he wake up and think twice?

He tightened his arms around Harry’s chest. He had to try. Even this little taste would be worth it. He was going to fight for this man until Harry himself asked him to stop.

Harry squirmed, muttering something under his breath and stretching. Draco smiled and just enjoyed watching his face contort as his body drew taught to its full length. He smirked as Harry squinted at him through one bleary green eye. “Mornin’,” he said, voice rough and cracking. “Hmm. This is even better than waking up to breakfast.”

He squirmed right around until his face was pressed into his sternum and Draco chuckled, kissing his forehead. “I’ll remember that.” The warm glow spreading through his chest made him feel like he was inflating. Over the last few weeks he’d stayed with Harry ten nights, plus this one, and he’d woken up every morning while Harry still slept like the dead. Breakfast was almost becoming a routine. The glow intensified at the thought of _any_ of this becoming truly routine

“I wouldn’t say no to breakfast if it ever takes your fancy, of course,” he mumbled. “But this is the best.”

The tapping on the window made both of them jump, and Draco growled at his mother’s owl, flinging the covers back and holding a pillow to his crotch to walk to the window. He didn’t need to be judged by Hermes at this time of the morning.

“Is that your owl?”

“Mother’s,” he said, breaking the seal and flapping the barn owl away. His stomach dropped as he read. “She wants to see you.”

“Me?” Harry’s head shot up off the pillows. “What did I do?”

“Dear Mr Potter, I request the pleasure of your company at your absolute earliest convenience. Vital information has come to my attention and I feel morally obliged to impart it to you.”

“What the hell is all that about?” he frowned, scrambling for his clothes.

“I’ve no idea,” Draco said, staring at he elegant copperplate, his heart beating hard. “Wait, are you going right now?”

“Of course,” said Harry, struggling with his hair in the mirror, his glasses smudged and askew. “It sounds serious.”

“But—“

“Draco,” he said, turning and taking his hands. “I’m about to piss your mum off quite enough by not letting you go. I don’t want to make things any more difficult. I mean…if you still—“

Draco couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, or the warm melted feeling rising up his chest again. He pulled Harry close and kissed his temple. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go piss off my mother.”

Harry sighed and tightened his hands on Draco’s waist.

***

“Draco?” Mother was in the living room as they arrived in the Floo. She turned, her fingers tangled together in front of her, and Draco frowned. Mother never allowed herself such an obvious show of nerves. Her eyes widened as she saw Harry. “Mr Potter…I didn’t realise you’d be able to make it so early…”

“Hello Mrs—I mean Narcissa.”

She nodded and gave him a distracted smile, and Draco almost gaped at the unprecedented breach of etiquette. “Draco, would you mind giving Mr P—uh, Harry and I a moment?”

“Actually, Narcissa, Draco and I both have something to tell you.” Harry stepped forwards to stand shoulder to shoulder with Draco. He had a feeling they both looked like they were facing a firing squad, and Mother looked horrified.

“Ah, I really must insist—“

“Mother, it’s just—“

“The Life Debt is void!”

Silence fell. Draco was so shocked at hearing Mother raise her voice that he didn’t register what the words meant.

“Pardon?” said Harry, blinking.

Mother rubbed her temple. “The Life Debt. I was under a misapprehension that I had saved your life, Mr Potter.”

“What?” Harry laughed. “You did! I testified on your behalf under oath, it was true, you lied to Voldemort. If you hadn’t, he’d have killed me.”

Her eyes softened and she looked unbearably sad. “You think he’d have used the Killing Curse on you?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Like he had done not a moment before?”

“What?” Draco gasped, breath punching from him. “You said…you said he must have missed Harry.”

Mother shook her head, her eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “Is it true you died, Mr Potter?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“You _what_?”

Harry turned to him, surprised. “Yeah, I mean, for a bit. But if your mum hadn’t lied Voldemort would have hit me again and it…well, after the Horcrux was gone, it…might have…stuck?”

Mother shook her head. “You still had all three Hallows under your control, didn’t you? You were Master of Death. You couldn’t have been truly killed by anything unless you wanted to be.”

Draco felt like his heart was being torn out. Harry had _died_. He’d been killed by the bastard psychopath who’d put his mark on Draco’s arm.

“Draco…Draco, what is it, are you OK?” Harry’s hands squeezed his biceps and Draco could just make out the worry on his face through his tears.

“You died,” he whispered. “You died and I didn’t…I didn’t know.” He didn’t feel it, he thought. There was a time when Harry had been torn away from the world and it hadn’t ended, and that just wasn’t right.

“Hey, no, it’s OK, I’m here, see? It didn't take.” Harry held his palm to his chest and Draco pressed closer, greedily trying to feel his heartbeat, absolute proof that Harry was _alive_. Draco whimpered and pulled him close, kissing him hard.

“Draco!” his mother gasped. “You…is this…but the Debt…”

“Draco,” Harry said urgently. “I owe you a Life Debt, don’t I?”

“What?”

He nodded firmly. “I didn’t have the Elder wand when you lied to Bellatrix for me.”

“But I—“

“And I think you owe me a Life Debt too, after the Fiendfyre.”

Draco huffed, eyes wide. “Harry, the entire world owes you a Debt for killing the Dark Lord.”

He smirked, but Draco could feel Harry’s hands tremble as they tightened around his fingers. “I think…I think we should just…spend our Life Debts together, don’t you? I mean…” he looked up at him through his glasses, his eyes so anxious. “If you—“

Draco kissed him, cupping his cheeks like the treasure he was. He pressed his head against Harry’s and smiled. “Proposing already, Potter?”

Harry blushed. “Well…I mean…”

“Oh, taking it back already?”

“No! I mean…oh, fuck it, you bastard, you’re winding me up, aren’t you?”

Draco kissed him again through his giggles.

“I know it’s early,” he said softly, stroking Draco’s knuckles where his hands lay against Harry’s cheek. “But I…I can’t imagine this going anywhere else…can you?”

“Harry, I’ve loved you since before I knew what was going on. There’s never been anyone else for me, never.”

Harry smiled so sweetly, his big green eyes shining, and Draco felt a rush of protective power to have him look at him like that.

Harry suddenly turned to Draco’s mother, tensing up. “I know I’m not what you wanted for Draco—“

Mother laughed. “Not what I _wanted_? Oh, Harry Potter, my son’s heart and mind have been full of you for as long as I can remember. For you to reciprocate is all I could ever have dreamed.”

“But…” Harry and Draco stared at her open mouthed. “But you said you wanted Draco to marry a Pureblood!”

She spread her hands. “I lied.”

“Mother!” Draco snapped. “Why? Why would you do something like this?”

She sighed. “Really Draco, if it had been left up to you you’d have never spoken to Harry again.”

“But why the lies? Why put so much pressure on me to marry a Pureblood? To…to _use_ Harry for PR?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve always worked well under pressure, both of you. And…” she hesitated and glanced at Harry. “I didn’t know if Harry would ever feel the same way. I had to plan for the worst, stop you from getting your hopes up. But this gave you an opportunity to see the best in my son, and I…I thought, maybe, that you’d see how truly incredible he can be, if you were just…looking.” 

She sank into an armchair, still elegant but Draco could see she was tired as well. “When Ginevra told me about the Horcruxes this morning at the Zabinis…it was one lie too much, I couldn’t…it was one thing to tell a half truth, that I wanted Draco to marry a Pureblood. I would have taken that route if it was clear you’d never return my son’s feelings. But this…to have trapped you in this agreement under false pretences…” she shook her head, not looking at him. “We all owe you too much for that.”

Harry shook his head, and for a moment Draco was worried he’d be angry, wouldn’t want to come near Draco and his ridiculous family ever again. But he leaned his forehead on Draco’s temple, shaking his head and chuckling. “You’re all crazy. This was the most Slytherin matchmaking scheme anyone’s ever cooked up. But…you’re right.” He pressed his nose against Draco’s cheekbone. “I do return Draco’s feelings. All of them, I think.”

Draco felt the warm bubble that had been trapped in his chest that morning swell, and break its bounds, and overflow through his body as he wrapped Harry up and held him close, and thought maybe, maybe this could last. Maybe he could hope.


End file.
